


Worth a Thousand Words

by Dawnwind



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:58:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle's been kidnapped and Bodie has the picture to prove it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth a Thousand Words

Worth a Thousand Words  
By   
Dawnwind

 

Bodie wanted to close his eyes, look away, anything to deny the existence of the photo.

"This is all they sent." Murphy took a deep breath, obviously affected by the picture, too. "On the back…"

"I'll read it meself!" Bodie exploded, unable to control his temper one moment longer. He spread his palm over the image so that he didn't have to look at it right then and flipped it over. Stark block letters, printed as if with a rule to make them stand up like soldiers. "Twenty four hours. Release Dobbins. Exchange with your agent at Tower Bridge, nine pm."

His heart pounded hard against his ribs, trying to escape and find Doyle perhaps. Bodie tried to clear his throat, get some saliva on his tongue. He was dry as dust and unable to think clearly. It was now or never, he had to turn the picture over and examine it for clues. Filter out the horrible image and act like someone who knew what he was doing.

"Does the old man know?" he asked instead. Cowley'd finally shown his age two days earlier. A massive stroke the doctor had said. The damage to his right side was significant but already he'd been talking in short bursts and insisting that he be allowed to walk around the ward. 

"Not yet," Murphy answered quietly, glancing around the office with an almost ashamed expression.

Bodie knew the feeling. Seemed wrong to be camped out in Father's office when he wasn't there. But once they'd discovered that Doyle was missing, all efforts had gone into looking for him. And then the photo had come by special delivery. 

He turned the picture over reverently, his belly clenching. He'd only had a brief glance after he'd pulled it from the envelope—and dropped it on the floor in shock. Now he had to be analytical—Doyle, huddled in a corner, his face a mask of bruises and blood. One arm was held awkwardly to his body—broken, maybe? He was looking straight at the photographer, a familiar jut to his chin, obviously defiant and angry.

Bodie wondered if that trait had got him more of a beating that if he'd cooperated with his captors. Then Bodie grunted, half a giggle coming up through his nose, making him feel just a bit mad. Doyle cooperative, what utter bullshit.

"That is the morning News of the World," Murphy pointed out helpfully at the paper by Doyle's leg.

Bodie wanted to strangle the bugger. Doyle was supposed to have coordinated with Murphy four hours ago. Was supposed to have met him at a prearranged corner with his daily report about his undercover obbo. Bodie had been on the other side of London, watching for their target. Volker, the target had never shown—and then Murphy had called to say that Doyle never made his rendevous, either.

Where were they? Had Volker sussed to Doyle's real identity? The key was obviously Dobbins, Volker's old mate. They'd robbed the Bank of England together, apparently to finance the IRA. 

"And the room Doyle is in looks old, damp, like it's down by the docks. Possibly an old warehouse or…" Bodie trailed off, the scope of what they had to do daunting. Now less that twenty four hours, as well. "We'll find him," he vowed. "We will find Doyle. Dobbins and Volker be damned."


End file.
